"Don't Look Back"
The sequel to "All Roads Lead to Your Heart"
Part 1: When there's something strange
Even since Regan was born Assumpta stopped having overnight guests. On the rare occasion that a friend of someone in the village was desperate, she would make an exception, but it was rare. Therefore, Assumpta didn't need to serve early breakfast and ever since, the mornings were family time.
Peter liked to wake his wife with his hands and his lips. Later, they would spend time as a family talking or playing games with Regan. It was Peter's favorite time of the day, quiet, peaceful and happy. Eleven o'clock would come eventually, the pub would open and life got crazy, loud, and busy.
Most days after the lunch crowd was gone, Peter was usually out for the afternoon. This term he was taking sociology, psychology, and an early childhood development course. Those classes consumed two days out of his week. Other days, Peter went along with Michael to visit the sick and elderly in the community or sometimes over to the school if Brendan was having a problem with one of the children. Then Peter made sure to be home in time to put Regan to bed and help with the nightly rush of customers. He loved the routine of life they had settled into together.
This particular morning, however, Peter rolled over to find the other side of the bed empty. The clock read 4:24 AM in digital numbers. It was not like Assumpta to ever be up this early, so he was concerned and confused for a moment. Then Peter realized what woke him, the sound of her over the toilet, and he cringed. Since Christmas three weeks ago Assumpta was sick constantly, not just in the morning, and she was miserable.
Peter got up and crossed to the door which was open an inch, he peeked in. Assumpta was sitting on the floor. His t-shirt, the one she had worn to bed, was pulled over her bent knees and down her legs. With her head in her hands taking deep breaths, Assumpta looked like a hurt little girl hiding in the corner, and Peter's heart melted for her.
He asked, "Can I get you something?" and startled her so added, "sorry."
"No, nothing helps," Assumpta groaned, "and I've tried everything Michael suggested. I think it will get better in its own time, at least that's what happened with Regan."
Peter stepped inside and sat cross-legged on the floor facing her, they hardly fit in the space between the tub and the toilet.
"Look what I found." Assumpta tossed him a book.
One look at the cover and Peter recognized it as the purchase he made before they were married so that he hopefully wouldn't disappoint her on their wedding night, or ever.
"You were reading this?" Peter asked as he flipped though pages.
"I was looking for something to read between the waves of nausea and I found it on the end of the bookshelf. You realize soon Regan'll be old enough that she could find that."
"Then we won't have to explain to her how she got her new little brother or sister because the pictures make it clear enough I'd say… Oh, we should try this." He held it open and showed her a page.
Assumpta snorted. "Trust me, neither of us are flexible enough for that."
He considered, then, "Are you happy with us? I mean what we do?"
"Of course, how could you ask such a thing?"
"Because I've heard enough in the confession box to know that there are husbands who can't satisfy their wives and wives often that cover up and fake it, in order to spare their husband's feelings."
"In the confession box…?" This stunned Assumpta.
"You'd be amazed at the things I've heard. A happy, fulfilling 20-year marriage ruined because her husband fumbled and was selfish and not once in 20 years did she-"
"The poor woman should be granted sainthood."
Peter gave her a look, "I'm actually going somewhere with this if you'd let me…"
"Right, sorry."
"This was the one and only flaw in their otherwise happy marriage. They loved each other but this flaw was enough to ruin everything. She ended up having an affair."
Assumpta finished off his logic. "So you bought that book to ensure you did not ruin us."
He met her eyes. "Do you really enjoy our love life or do you, ah, spare feelings?"
"Peter," her voice was mocking, "when have I ever spared your feelings on anything?"
He thought for a minute on that. "There is a first time for even the most absurd and impossible."
He grinned as Assumpta rolled her eyes. Sometimes it was just too easy to get her. But Peter kept at her; she wasn't going to get away with joking it away.
"It has been more than three weeks since the last time we made love," he said. "I didn't want to assume it's only because you're feeling sick these days. I want to make sure there isn't another reason you're holding back."
Assumpta took the book lying between them and absently flipped through it.
She said firmly, "There is no other reason. I feel this way and I just can't be in the right mood for us and you're missing it I know, I am too. But it'll go the other way. Once the sick feeling went away I was nearly fainting every time you were near when I was carrying Regan. You put your arm around me and I had to fight to keep from takin' you right in the middle of the pub once." She sighed and her voice got softer. "Tell you what, aye, if you can be a little patient I will make up for these weeks."
"Promises, promises," Peter teased.
She was trying hard to make it off-handed but her voice carried her worry despite her best efforts, "I am sorry."
"Don't be, I'm okay." Peter was anxious to reassure her, with how miserable Assumpta was feeling he didn't want her worried about this too. "I spent years being celibate I think I can handle a few weeks."
It still made her uncomfortable sometimes when Peter's days as a priest came up and her automatic response was for a shiver to go up her spine. With it, a thought clicked into place.
Assumpta looked up and asked, "I thought you never could speak of things confessed to you?"
"That one wasn't actually in the confessional… loophole."
"Ah, right. What the world needs are more priests lookin' for loopholes."
It was the typical sort of comment from Assumpta but her heart just wasn't in it this time. Instead, her mind was wrestling with how comfortable he was speaking about confessions. How much fondness there was in Peter's voice. Still. As if he missed it. And it nagged at her like a blister on the bottom of her foot.
Later that morning, Assumpta was signing off on the receipts from her supplier as Regan, on her hands and knees, scurried toward the open pub door. Father Aiden caught the baby girl just as she got her hands on the walk out front.
He picked her up and asked, "Where's your Mammy?" Carrying her inside Aiden spotted Assumpta and waited until the paperwork was finished between her and the supplier.
Before looking up, Assumpta told the potential customer, "I'm sorry we're not open just yet-" but then she did look up, to the sight of a priest holding her daughter, Assumpta considered the advantages of fainting.
Father Aiden, feeling as uncomfortable as he always did around Assumpta, tried to explain, "She was crawling out the door."
Assumpta took it as an insult to her mothering skills. Something she was always a bit testy on since everyone, including those not of the clergy, were always complimenting on how wonderful a father Peter was but no one said two words about her abilities. She took Regan from him in a manner that made Father Aiden feel as if he'd just been caught stealing the silver.
Father Aiden felt he should get his visit over with as quick as possible. "I was looking for Peter."
"Why?" she asked suspiciously.
"I could use some help with the accounts and Kathleen suggested it. She said Peter's… ah… best talent was keeping up with the books."
Assumpta's eyes narrowed, "She said 'only' talent." When Aiden looked uncomfortable again, Assumpta added, "Kathleen has never and will never give my," she emphasized the word hard, "husband a compliment. So don't you come into in my pub telling me lies."
"I only came to ask for help."
"It's not his responsibility, it's yours. Peter doesn't have the time since he has a whole life now that does not include your accounts." She turned on her heel with Regan in her arms and stormed into the kitchen.
Later, Assumpta was trying to forget the incident as she washed up glasses behind the bar in a nearly empty pub. Brendan had come from school to join Padraig for a pint. Brendan sat with Regan on his lap, supporting her with one arm and lifting the pint with the other. Regan was giggling and babbling nonsense at him.
"You're a happy baby aren't you?" Brendan said, and she giggled at him. "Too much for that Leo to be your Daddy."
Assumpta ignored Brendan. He never told her directly, of course, it wasn't really his place. But now and again Brendan found ways to get his jibe in that he never approved of Leo.
Brendan kept talking to Regan. "No, it would have to be someone extreme so as to overcome the obstacles of your Mom's genetic material."
He looked up to see if Assumpta was listening to his teasing. Brendan was the only one that could get away with going this far. Evidenced by the fact that to this day, he was the only one in Ballykay she hadn't at one time or another threatened to bar. But Assumpta did throw things at him, and if Brendan didn't keep an eye on her, he wouldn't be ready to duck.
"We wish it were someone good," Brendan goaded, "overly good all the time. Don't we?" He asked the baby girl. Then after a beat, turned to Padraig, "Whatever happened to that Father Clifford guy?"
Padraig shrugged, playing along. "Heard he was trying to reunite the Spice Girls and become the 6th spice." Padraig's lips twitched as he paused for the drama of the punch line, "Doggy Collar Spice."
Brendan countered, "Wholesome Spice."
"Pollyanna Spice."
"Saintly Spice."
Assumpta snapped, "Oh for God's sake."
When Father Mac walked in next, Padraig quickly changed subjects. "The new curate speaks so softly we can hardly hear the homily."
Brendan gave Padraig a look of 'why do you care?' Father Mac sighed like he was carrying the weight of humanity on his shoulders and Padraig had just added another nation.
"He's doing his best," Fr. Mac explained, "and I am being patient. There is that saying, 'You don't know what you had until it's gone,' and as it turns out Peter Clifford wasn't as bad as I once thought. Actually, for a Clifford it turns out he is the best of the lot. His brothers are heathens."
Brendan and Padraig chuckled. Father Mac never discovered their involvement in the fiasco of Peter and Assumpta's wedding night last year. The plan was to disturb the newlyweds. Only to the surprise of the conspirators involved they found Father Mac sleeping off his liquor in Assumpta's room instead. Father Mac's own surprise was promptly followed by his running the four Clifford boys out of town, never knowing there was a local resistance movement as well.
Padraig asked casually, "Recovered yet from the fright?"
Father Mac put a hand to his chest, "Not quite."
Assumpta kept her face neutral the entire conversation until Father Mac turned to address her, so she put on her best glare for him.
"Assumpta, I've heard vicious rumors for weeks now that you were seen in church at mass on Christmas Day."
She raised an eyebrow. "You find out who's spreading those vicious rumors and I'll-"
But Father Mac cut her off, "Put them in the path of your brothers-in-law?"
"Sounds like a plan." Then she felt the rolling and twisting in her stomach, "Excuse me," Assumpta mumbled and dashed off to the confusion of the three men. Assumpta hung over the toilet and groaned and complained in her head that this baby was getting in the way of running the pub properly.
The following week Ballykay was experiencing record cold. Snow accumulation was even predicted in places not at the highest altitudes and the suggestion alone was enough to keep most people snug in their homes. Except the pub's regulars who were meeting in Fitzgerald's to plan for the tourist season that began months from now.
Brendan and Siobhan had already been at the pub most of the evening. It was becoming a habit to put Aisling down in Regan's nursery until closing time. Niamh, Ambrose, Liam, Donel, and a handful of others were there as well. Brain was explaining to them the changes he was proposing in the festival for the coming spring.
Peter handed over a glass while saying, "Siobhan, I am reminding you again this year, I am not climbing up after you and rescuing you or a sheep."
"Ram."
"Whatever it is. It, and you, get stuck up somewhere and I'm leaving you there."
Assumpta held back a smile as she pulled a pint. The funniest part was that no one believed Peter would hesitate for a second to go to any heights to help one of his friends. Drunk or sober, smart or stupid, high or low, as much as Peter lectured he'd be there to rescue them no matter the circumstances.
Assumpta's heart swelled a little, she found reasons every day to love him even more than ever. It was remarkable that after all this time, after a baby, and marriage, and all the newness of intimacy wore off she still found her love for Peter growing. He did amaze her constantly.
Brain's head snapped up in surprise, he'd always know Siobhan was behind it but the ever-honest Father Clifford was the last person he would have included in a conspiracy. He addressed Peter, "You helped that sheep escape?"
"Ram," Siobhan corrected again.
Niamh added, "I don't believe it." She still had difficulty seeing Peter as something other than a priest. But certainly in those days, Father Clifford was somewhat above the law in her mind.
Peter felt the need to defend himself so he turned on the only other available victim. "Assumpta helped too."
Brian commented, "Now why doesn't that surprise me?"
Almost simultaneous was Brendan's observation. "Well now the story's gettin' more interesting."
Assumpta only looked at Peter as if to say 'now you've done it.'
Siobhan noted, "But that wooden ram has been in demand every year since so."
"It has," Brain agreed, "but that does not entitle you to a cut of the profits. This year Eamon and I will be conducting a direct to the public sale during the festival due to the demands of folks wanting to take home their own wooden sheep."
"Demands of his pocketbook, more like." Padraig elbowed Brendan.
Peter asked, "What does one do with their very own wooden sheep?"
"Ram," Siobhan complained and then drank deeply from her beer wondering why she bothered.
"I don't know," Brain answered Peter, "use your imagination."
Brendan elbowed Padraig back. "Dangerous advice depending on who you're giving it too."
"And that brings me to ask you, Peter, if you'd lend a hand," Brian turned his head, "I'll be on the stage, of course, but I'll need a competent person running things from behind the scenes."
"Not Liam or Donel?" Brendan asked.
"I said competent."
Peter met Assumpta's eyes and when she didn't give an indication that she cared one way or the other, Peter shrugged his shoulders. He answered Brian, "I'll help if you need me."
Brendan noticed Assumpta looking pale and tired these last weeks. But tonight, even more than she did right after Regan was born.
Padraig got up to use the toilet and Brendan moved over to his seat. As the others were busy talking with Brian about the festival preparations, Brendan leaned into Assumpta.
He asked quietly, "You alright?"
"Fine," she answered.
"Only you're lookin' a bit pale. It's not good for the baby to push yourself."
She stared at Brendan, confused for a second, thinking that Peter might have told even though they had agreed not to say anything just yet.
Brendan reminded, "If you catch something you'll pass it to Regan."
Ah, that baby, Assumpta caught on. She said, "I'm fine. Only tired. Regan's been up nights again recently."
Peter separated from the discussion around Brain and put his arm around his wife, listening.
Brendan suggested, "Orla's said she was looking for work, if you need help round here."
"Orla?" Assumpta tried to place the name, vaguely remembering someone new, now living in Ballykay. Someone she hadn't yet run into.
"Father Aiden's sister," Brendan supplied.
Peter took two steps back at that point anticipating the tirade about the clergy, family of the clergy, dogs owned by the clergy, rats that by chance ventured into a house that the clergy once had tea in, never being under her roof. Assumpta always seemed to conveniently forget about Peter's former vocation and the fact that she now shared a bed with him during those tirades, which made it difficult to take them all that seriously.
Instead, Assumpta surprised Peter by only saying, "I'll think about it."
It was a late night again in Fitzgerald's and the snow never came. But throughout the following week it remained bitterly cold. Tonight, Peter was snuggled into bed with his wife snoring softly.
Assumpta loved her sleep and there wasn't much that easily woke her from it. But a person who receives a middle-of-the-night call with word that someone you love is dead, that is the sort of experience that remains in one's subconscious and heart for a lifetime. Her eyes opened instantly at the sound of the phone and Assumpta grabbed the extension, "Yes."
"Assumpta," it was Michael's voice, just like always telling her that her mother was gone and loss and fear swept through, she was alone now.
"What happened?" she asked.
But her mind registered Peter's soft snore behind her. His arm was around her and his hand, with fingers spread, cradled her belly. Already the protective father. Assumpta took a breath as the past faded from her and the present came into focus.
From over the line, "Assumpta, I'm sorry to wake you and startle you," Michael replied and cringed. He hadn't even thought of it until now, when the same young, breathless voice on the other end tried to stay strong and steady. It had been many years and so much had changed that he'd almost forgotten about calling Assumpta away at school with terrible news of her mother.
Michael rushed his words in a guilty attempt to reassure now. "Everything's fine. It's… something happened but not to someone you know. I need Peter's help and I called hoping to speak with him." Michael's voice was filled with sympathy as he repeated, "I'm sorry I woke you."
The phone didn't wake Peter, but Assumpta's voice did. Instinctively, his arm tightened around her as Peter opened his eyes and lifted his head trying to shake sleep and gauge what was going on.
Assumpta was handing him the phone saying, "It's Doctor Ryan. He needs your help."
It took only a few seconds for Michael to outline what had happened, a nineteen-year-old had been out drinking with friends and tried to drive home in the winding country hills. The accident was so terrible it was doubtful she'd make it through the night and her parents were at emergency now and falling apart with grief.
Assumpta got up with him. Peter protested that she should go back to bed, that for once she wasn't up sick she should take advantage and catch up on lost sleep.
But Assumpta wouldn't listen. "I'll drive you," she said, not asked.
He began pulling on pants and almost laughed, "Then who's going to look after Regan?"
She'd forgotten about Regan, how could a mother do such a thing? Assumpta was chastising herself as she explained to Peter, "I- I was thinking of before. Taking you to that mountainy man, I suppose." He smiled at the memory.
She compromised, "I'll make you coffee and put it in a thermos."
Peter watched her leave the room. Assumpta was acting strange but he didn't have time to sort it out.
A few minutes later, Peter was dressed and at the pub's main door. Assumpta kissed his cheek and then handed him the thermos. As Peter turned to leave she grasped his arm. When he turned, Assumpta put her arms around Peter's neck and kissed him fully on the lips in a way she hadn't in weeks.
As he drove, Peter considered his wife and how sick she'd been feeling. This kissing wasn't about making up for lost time now. It was something weighing on her. Not that he was complaining about those meaningful kisses because it'd been long enough. Too long in his mind, though he'd never tell her.
Peter was halfway to the hospital when he figured it out, she was worried about him driving half-asleep. Former priests didn't make as thick and slow of a husband as some people thought. Peter congratulated himself because Brendan was forever saying that.
Once Peter arrived he rang home, "I made it fine so stop worrying. It's bad for the baby."
"Me, worry about your driving?" Her sarcasm clear over the line, "When you were taught by the best?"
"She is that." He heard her exhale. "Now go rest."